


Rising Demons; Falling Stars

by PrimerPaint



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime
Genre: Abandonment, Betrayal, Canon Compliant, Canon Universe, Character Study, Cybertron, Headcanon, Heartbreak, Implied Violence, Kidnapping, M/M, Matrix of Leadership (Transformers), Memory Loss, Pre-Canon, Pre-War, Revolutionaries, i dont kow how to write arguments
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-12
Updated: 2019-07-22
Packaged: 2020-05-01 23:11:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19187179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrimerPaint/pseuds/PrimerPaint
Summary: Orion Pax never wanted to become the next Prime, but he had little choice when the Matrix of Leadership was thrust upon him. Megatron, unknowing of Orion's fate, believes he was betrayed and chooses to fight the Senate. Now, as the Matrix slowly overrides his memories, will he have enough time to talk to Megatron?-->Previously titled"From the Pits He Rises, From the Stars He Falls"Two-shot character study after rewatching the scene where Ratchet tells of OP's past with Megatron and the Senate. I really like the ideas that it wasn't Orion's choice, and that he could remember what happened. At least for a little bit.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, thanks for taking a gander! This is my first really canon-based TF fic I've ever written, and I really like this concept. So feel free to tell me what you think when you're done! This is also the longest short story i've ever written wtf ... its 1:30 am and I just rlly wanna get it out there, finally. 
> 
> >Edit: 7.21.19: Finally betaed! So updated grammar n stuff.  
> \--  
> Time Conversion References:  
> Groon: 1 Hr  
> Klik: 1.2 Mins  
> Nano Klik: 1 Sec  
> Astro Klik: .273 Sec  
> Solar Cycle/Cycle: Day (Cybertronian)  
> Vorn: 83 (Earth) years, 1 (Cybertronian) Year

1

The crowds surrounding the senate building had all dispersed after Megatron had stormed out. For that, Orion Pax was relieved. There was a lot running through his processor right now.

Megatron, Orion, and their “pack of rebels”, had started the day with a solid plan. They were to speak to the senate - well, Megatron was. He had written a speech on the journey from Kaon, and he was to present their case in favor of demolishing the caste system. From the bits that Orion had been able to help on, it was beautifully crafted. Megatron began it with an overview the start of his movement from within the gladiatorial pits, before moving to show the hardships functionalism and casteing had put upon the bots around Cybertron. He had even crafted in their shared ideas on how to change the current system peacefully. Orion felt that it was easily enough to sway the thoughts of the higher ups, and even possibly enough to influence the senate. 

Megatron spoke not a word of his speech today, however. 

It must have been something about being faced with those who had ruined his life since the mines that set him off. Orion, having been a higher-casted mech working in the Archives, had never faced the true turmoil that Megatron had gone through. Yet, his sudden flop in character was still confusing. Megatron was calm as he walked through the halls in Iacon. He was calm as he stepped up to the pedestal before his audience. He was calm while he began his introduction. He was even calm in the beginning of his impromptu speech. Then, Megatron demanded a war-filled revolution. 

He demanded to become a Prime. 

Orion pushed a gust of atmosphere through his vents, a hand coming up to rub one of his audials. He swore he could still hear the roar of the crowds as the two entered the building, as well as the outstanding applause that the Senate had left him with. 

When Megatron grew angry and demanding, Orion had chosen that time to step in. What had the gladiator been thinkinging, raging in front of the senate like that? He knew that was not going to get them anywhere! Megatron had of course taken it to heart - that cantankerous mech - and stormed out, practically leaving the fate of the lower castes in Orion’s hands. So, he had improvised, and spoke of what he had seen. He’d spokenfrom the heart. Astoundingly, it worked. 

Orion looked up into the dark sky - the stars, as always, visible - and checked his internal chronometer. Venting, the archivist realized he had spent nearly a half a day with the Senate discussing aspects to be changed and worked upon. 

Lowering his head, Orion noted how oddly empty the streets felt, before remembering that he was back in Iacon. At this time a night, day-working bots are all in their homes recharging comfortably, and any mechs who worked night have already arrived at their shift. Kaon, in contrast, was always alive, always moving. Constantly rotating shifts for the smelteries, mechs moving to and from bars and other businesses, and the general homeless populace roaming the streets kept the city going. Orion figured he liked the bustle of Kaon better than the quiet of Iacon, despite its increased risk. 

Walking towards where their group was supposed to be staying, Orion turned his personal communication system back online. He was surprised to find two questioning pings from Soundwave, a mech who hardly ever spoke to him, and only one missed request for a call from Megatron. His HUD still displayed the silver mech’s gladiator name: Megatronus.There was also a worried ping from Ratchet, the older mech probably fretting over him. 

The archivist decided to ping a response to Soundwave and Ratchet first, figuring it would be best to just talk to Megatron face to face. However, as he walked alone, he caved and sent a ping to the silver gladiator as well. Might as well tell them he was actually alive, and wasn’t killed by the Senate. Megatron’s flair for theatrics and jumping to worst case scenarios must have washed off on him... huh. 

As expected, Orion immediately got an acknowledgement from Soundwave, and a few moments later one from Ratchet. Orion was nearly to the Iacon Hall of Records before he had gotten any sort of response from Megatron. It was a curt text-style message stating simply _‘I will meet you a groon after sunrise in front of the hall of records later to discuss.’_ Huh. To the point. 

Orion was slightly put off by the message; normally his interactions with the gladiator have been warm and welcoming. By the pits, the archivist felt the most alive and happy around Megatron than he did ever living here in Iacon. Stopping before the large staircase that opened in front of the Hall, Orion turned his gaze over the city surrounding him. Iacon, with all its domed towers and golden accents, suddenly felt cold. 

The young archivist reflected upon what the council told him after his rant. They spoke of the current Nova Prime, the one who held the title of Prime for government’s sake. It was not a secret that he did not truly hold the Matrix of Leadership within his spark casing. However, the way the thirteen councilmechs had looked at one another after bringing up the topic of Prime, it sent a chill down Orion’s back struts. There was talk from the few religious mechs in Kaon of a prophecy sprung from the Well of AllSparks itself, one that spoke of world-destruction and Primus’ power. 

Orion shook his helm, clearing his processor and refocusing his visual feed. Mechs in Kaon were prone to being overdramatic; there was no way that the alleged prophecy is true, let alone that it actually pertained to him. Rubbing his mouth, Orion turned and went inside the building behind him. The mech quietly went to his personal recharge room in the downstairs of the Hall’s main floor. As the door slid shut in a hiss behind him, Orion shuttered his optics and vented in the cool, filtered air of his room. 

There were separate rooms for him, Alpha Trion, a few security mech, and a few other top archivists. Though Orion had departed from the Hall for a few vorns now, ‘Trion had apparently kept the archivist’s room locked and safe. 

Laying down, Orion thought over Megatron’s choice of words at the senate, analyzing what may have been a cause of the moodswing, and how cold the gladiator had felt when responding to his ping. 

Well, the red and blue mech thought, at least he’d followed the original plan and begged for peace. Whatever may come now was brought upon by Megatron’s deviation, not his own.

2 

At the top of the steps, hidden by the shadow cast by the great golden Hall of Records, Orion sat intermittently checking his chronometer. Of course, as the kliks passed the marker of one groon after sunrise, Megatron would be late. The thought caused his spark to drop, the ghosting feeling of his energon lines constricting in anxious fear spread through his servos. How mad was the gladiator? Surely it was an accident, the break in plan at the Senate, right?

Clenching and unclenching his hands in a nervous tick, the young archivist looked out to the street. A sharp gleam of silver caught his optic, and in a swift motion Orion was standing at attention. Megatron was walking up the stairs towards him. 

As an industrial-type frame, the gladiator was wildly out of place. Armored spikes on his pauldrons, red optics, lack of colorful paint, and overall size set him apart from the early morning crowd. However, as he confidently stalked up the stairs towards the Iaconian, Soundwave loyally following every step, Orion felt a pang of envy at the show of bravado. Even a few vorns in, Orion still felt as though he was being judged as the high caste snob when he walked through Kaon. 

All thoughts were stopped once Megatron took the final few steps to stand before Orion. The two stood optic to optic, the archivist standing a step above Megatron. The gladiator’s red optic color was off-putting, Orion assuming he must have changed it overnight. An odd procedure.... 

His rambling stream of thoughts were halted as Megatron turned to nod towards Soundwave, at last breaking optic-contact. Orion blinked, and watched as Megatron looked back to him while holding out a large silver servo. “Walk with me, Orion Pax.” 

His voice held none of its usual warmth, all glyphs that may have been fondly added to his designation were replaced for callous, professional ones. Instantly, the archivist’s mood dropped, his spark shrinking back. He must have done something wrong, and he feared that because he had not known what he could have done. Either way, the smaller mech stiffly obliged, and stepped down to walk alongside the gladiator. 

For a long time that was all they did, walk. At first Orion had let his electromagnetic field expand a little, seeking comfort with a worrying hand. However, once it touched Megatron’s - icy, cold, upset - he pulled it as tight as possible. His processor ran, and if he were less worried he would consider the possibility of a meltdown with how much information was streaming through. 

However, eventually, Megatron led them towards the outside of Iacon, near the communal gardens. They did not enter, passing by the gates and walking along the walls. By this time, most workers had already clocked in, and all that remained were mostly those moving between jobs or touristing. As they walked next to the speedway, a larger race-frame bumped into Orion, and he had enough of the silence. 

“What is it,” the red and blue mech questioned quietly at first, staring at the pathway. He quickly looked up however, fear and worry swimming in his field, and grabbed a hold of one of Megatron’s upper arm struts for his attention. 

“What have I done wrong? Tell me! I do not understand why you are so cold, why you stormed out. I thought we had a plan! Why did you leave the plan, was it because of one of the senators?! You scared me Megatronus, why did you leave me?!” Blue optics wide and blazing, Orion watched as Megatron cooly blinked at him, watching his small rant silently. Were he any less upset, the archivist may have been embarrassed at the surprised looks of the passersby. He may have noticed the slight furrow or Megatron’s brows, or the way the mech’s fists curled up dangerously. 

That blank expression seemed to snap quickly to the oblivious archivist as Megatron’s field lashed out in hot annoyance. A sneer soon took up his faceplates, and the gladiator loomed over Orion, using his height to intimidate. “Did you not _see_ , Orion? Did you not _see_ how your reverend _councilmechs_ sneered at us, at me! They did not wish to listen to a low caste mech such as myself. They were disgusted by my presence! They did not even _acknowledge_ me, Orion!” 

The gladiator pushed a build up of hot atmosphere through his vents, and in a moment he had grabbed Orion’s arm strut and continued walking at a brisk pace. Though Orion did not notice, the gladiator’s red optics darted across the mechs in the area, studying each faceplate for a moment, seemingly taking in the potential enemy. 

What Orion did notice, however, was how he was being practically dragged down the street. “Wha- Megatron- Megatronus!” Orion gasped, stumbling quickly down the path and futilely scraping at the silver hand around strut. “Let go of me, let us talk!” 

Not looking back, glower evident in his voice, Megatron growled out a “You will come with me, Orion. We shall not talk here.” Sharp denta grinding, the gladiator continued to stalk down the path, before taking an abrupt turn towards a narrow street and finally to a small alcove that resembled the start of an alley but led nowhere. He released Orion forcibly, nearly throwing the small mech in front of him. 

Rubbing the red plating of his arm strut sorely, Orion frowned at the slight dents the gladiator inflicted. Scowling, his blue optics snapped to the mech in front of him. “Megatron, what is the meaning of this?! Why could we not just speak in the street, or perhaps in the Archive! Why are we here?” 

Baring his teeth, Megatron sneered. “Afraid of an alley, are you? I thought your beloved Iacon was the safest city in all of Cybertron?” Crossing his servos, Megatron looked over his shoulder in a way that may have suggested paranoia in a lesser mech. 

“Megatron, do not be like this… Tell me, please, what happened?” Orion’s processor chose this time to recall his previous mess ups on the gladiator’s designation, and the archivist had to suppress the involuntary cringe at his own lack. He would berate himself more on that when he was about to recharge, no doubt. Now was not the time. 

If he did cringe, Megatron seemed not to notice. With a puff of atmosphere, Megatron’s expression slightly shifted to one of exhausted annoyances. “‘Course you wouldn’t see, you’re practically raised on their spoon…” His Kaoni dialect was beginning to fade through as the gladiator rubbed his faceplates in exasperation. Orion scowled slightly at the insult, though chose not to speak up. 

Blazing red optics snapped back towards Orion, and he had to admit if they were chosen for intimidation it certainly did the trick. He felt his back strut straighten minutely under the scrutiny. 

“Orion Pax, as soon as I walked into that councilroom with you, the senate turned a blind eye to my cause. As soon as I opened my mouth and engaged my vocalizer, all they saw was a pile of rust who had been dropped at their pedes after being dragged from the mines. You ask why I chose to lash out, why I begun to demand. It was because they would not _listen_ otherwise, Orion!” Megatron had begun pacing, servos flying wildly as he ranted, eyes still snapping back to the archivist to keep him locked in place. 

“Not every mech has connections to the Senate, _Orion Pax_ , not every mech was born into a pre-respected caste! I had to work to where I am, I had to break my own chains to even just stand in Iacon a free mech! Did you not see, Orion?! They didn’t listen to me!” The gladiator growled, spinning to glare at Orion “All they cared about was Alpha Trion’s _prodigy,_ his little _archivist.”_

Any self-control Orion was attempting to harness in respect for Megatron’s feelings crumbled away at that last bite. Anger bloomed throughout his spark, spiking out dangerously in his EM field. “You _dare!”_ he growled, before jabbing a finger directly atop the freshly welded symbol on Megatron’s chestplate. 

“You _know_ I do not care about being an archivist anymore! You _know_ I do not hold myself as high as my caste, that I have all but abandoned it for you and your cause!” He huffed, “Or at least I _thought_ you knew!” Orion crossed his arms and glowered at the gladiator before him, not intimidated by the size difference. “I suppose not. I also suppose I’m the one in the wrong for trying the pacate the Senate! I want peace, Megatron, not a war! And by acting like that, war is exactly what we’re going to get!” 

Were Optimus not angry, he might have realized how ridiculous this fight was. There was no need to get so upset over Megatron commenting on his caste, it happened in the beginning of their relationship! When Orion had first met Megatron in Kaon, the gladiator showed distaste for his position right away. However, the stress of the solar cycle, the painful feeling of betrayal from the cycle before, and the stress provided by a poor recharge left his processor fritzy. He was angry. 

So, he yelled. And they fought.

3 

Hidden beneath his metalmesh fabric blankets, Orion stared blankly at nothing. In his processor, he mulled over the past solar cycle. Every so often he would blink, keeping his optical mechanics lubricated and shutting off the main source of light in his berth room. Steady ventilations filled the silence, and his chronometer ticked on steadily.

He couldn’t believe the things he’d said to Megatron… Their verbal argument had exponentially grown in ferocity, and Orion had quickly said things… that were frankly just disgusting. The archivist could blame the anger, the stress, the pain shooting through his chassis from his constricting spark for what he had said, but all the blame would never take back the words he shouted. 

It would never take back the complete betrayal that pulsed through Megatron’s field, the hurt that reflected in his red optics. It could never change the pain Orion caused. 

Those thoughts caused his spark to constrict more, and with a slight gasp Orion scrunched his brows and brought a hand to his chest plates in pain. Why did this hurt so much? Why did Megatron leaving _hurt so much?_

_‘Because now, he’s going to leave for Kaon, and you will never see him again,’_ his processor helpfully supplied. _‘He’s leaving, and the last thing you will have ever said to him will be about how he “is and always will be a ruthless monster who kills for the sake of it, and only manipulates his following into thinking that he does it because he has no other choice.”’_

But why does it hurt so much to know that? He knows mechs who have parted on even worse terms, and he’s never heard them say they hurt like this before. Why should he care?, the other half of his processor asked. 

_‘Why did you care about when he stood up for you in Champions Arena when the other mech was harassing you? Why did you care about when he smiled? Why did you care about making him laugh? Why did you care about visiting him every time you could, whether or not you talked about his revolutionary cause?’_

_… oh.._

In a quick motion, Orion was sitting up, spark nearly bursting out of his chest plates at the revelation. His HUD displayed that many groons had passed since he had departed from Megatron in the alley in downtown Iacon. It was nearly the next cycle! In what felt like vorns, but were simply nanokliks, Orion was sprinting down the Halls of the Archive, bursting through the front doors. 

Pausing only to scroll through the list of ignored pings and messages sent to him from Ratchet, Alpha Trion, and a few other of his friends, Orion stood on the steps of the Archive. He found no such messages from “Megatronus”. Quickly pulling up the wanted comm. number, Orion sent a red ping - very urgent - and began running. 

Had Megatron left for Kaon already? Orion ran desperately, heading wherever he suspected the gladiator may be. Their hotel? No, they’d checked out already. The bars? Not there. His spark fluttered, his energon running hot and his vents roaring. His hydraulics hurt in his struts as Orion paused just outside the last bar he checked. Perhaps the train station, he might catch him just leaving! 

There was no response from his comm. yet, but the archivist held out hope. _‘Please, Megatron’,_ he worried, _‘Please be in Iacon still, just for a groon more-!’_ The small red-and-blue mech ran, too frenzied to notice the red ping requesting an immediate voice call coming in from Alpha Trion on his HUD. 

Forcing his spent struts to function, Orion mentally berated himself for having stopped at the bar furthest away from the inter-city train in all of Iacon. He ran, and ran, and ran, his fear of losing Megatron blocking the pain notifications his sensors were sending to his processor from his lower servos, his pedes, and from his venting fans. 

Finally, it seemed, he didn’t need to be told by his sensors that he couldn’t run much longer, as Orion clumsily tripped and fell onto the pathway. His engine was running hot from exhaustion, his struts creaking from stress. A groan escaped him weakly, and when Orion lifted his helm he recognized the Senate building just down the street. He was only halfway there?! 

Quickly checking his HUD for any pings from Megatron, Orion barely noticed one of the thirteen senators walking up to him. Only when the mech was bodily picking up the archivist did he pull away from his notifications. 

“Orion?” the senator asked - Orion was too distraught to tell which one - worriedly, “What are you doing like this at this time of cycle?” 

Optics widening, Orion grasped onto the mech’s upper servo lightly. “Senator, please, have you seen Megatron recently? Has he gone back to Kaon yet? Please, I need to find him!” His field was wild with fear and anxiety. 

The Senator’s face seemed to shift to a strange expression, one that if Orion were focused may have been cause for apprehension. However, this soon changed to something akin to recognition and the Senator quickly nodded. “Megatron? The big silver mech? Yes, I have seen him!” Grabbing onto Orion’s shoulders a bit tighter than may have been needed for the situation, the Senator turned the archivist away from the direction of the station and walked him hurriedly forward. “I just saw him entering the Well’s museum! Come, we must go, he was talking of leaving soon!” 

Gasping, Orion quickly moved with the Senator, but his brows furrowed slightly. The Well? Why the Well? Megatron never spoke of the Well before, why now? He asked the Senator such a question, but received a slightly scornfully questioning glance. “The Well is a very popular place, you of all mechs should know this, Orion. Come, we must go quickly, we do not wish to miss him.” 

With the worry of never seeing his Megatronus again, Orion pushed the doubt from his processor and proceeded to the Well. Once getting to the museum, which was practically attached to the garden surrounding the Well, Orion took a step to enter. The Senator, however, held out a hand and stopped him, that same strange look on his faceplate. His EM field was pulled too close for Orion to sense any emotions. 

“No, Orion,” he said, slightly pulling on the archivist. “We must go to the Well itself.” 

The statement struck Orion oddly, and he blinked at the Senator. Walking hesitantly after the mech, Orion glanced to the gates of the Garden. They were oddly unguarded… 

“Senator, I do not understand… Why would Megatron be near the Well? And where are the guards?” Refocusing his gaze on the Senator, he was shocked to find the mech glaring at him. 

“Of course he is not there, why would we let a mech like _him_ anywhere near this holy place?!” The Senator growled, grabbing the red and blue mech roughly and beginning to pull him into the garden, down the path and ever closer to the faintly glowing Well. “No, Orion, come! You must go into the well, you must become our new Prime. The priests have foretold it, Primus has _willed it!”_

As they approached, Orion saw the rest of the Thirteen senators, all standing around the well and watching them approach. Optics widening, Orion felt his fans stall, his energon run cold, and his spark constrict. No… They were planning this all along. They wanted to _lure_ him to be alone. They wanted him to become a Prime! 

Roaring, Orion Pax did his best to fight against the Senator. However, because the mech was so much larger than the archivist - he recognized him as Tarn’s city senator, no wonder - it did nothing to stop the proceedings. 

“You must enter the Well, Orion Pax,” a different Senator was speaking - Iacon’s. “You must enter and meet Primus himself. Only then shall you receive the Matrix of Leadership, and become the Prime to stop Unicron from destroying Cybertron!” 

“N-No! I can’t-! I don’t want to be Prime, please, don’t make me!” Orion cried, feeling optical fluid beginning to leak down his faceplates. His frame was heating up quickly since his fans were still partially seized in fear, his engine roaring loudly. 

“You shall become Prime, Orion Pax. It is your destiny. You are meant to lead us, to save all of Cybertron! You shall destroy Unicron, and with him that disgusting Megatron and his rebels. You must save Cybertron!” 

Fear filled every sensor on Orion’s frame, as he fought desperately, only to be dragged closer and closer to the warm glow of the Well. This close, Orion could already see where they could simply not see any further, the Well falling too deep into the core of their planet. 

Pedes scraping on the metal path below him, Orion screamed and begged for mercy. He cannot become a Prime! Primes were just tools used by the council to control the castes! He would never subject himself to that, not for himself, not for Cybertron, not for Megatron! 

Finally, the Senators held him over the edge, and he was forced to stare into the glowing abyss below him. It’s his doom, his death perhaps. Either way, it would be against his will. Whimpering weakly, Orion had only one last resort when it came to Megatron. When faced with death, the silver gladiator was all the archivist could think of, fear and guilt constricting his spark. 

Sending a double red-yellow ping to the mech, Orion gasped as he was suddenly dropped. The sensation of falling overwhelmed him, all stabilizing gyros suddenly falling out of alignment and giving him a huge wave of dizziness. The double red-yellow ping was a code of sorts created between him and Megatronus when Orion first arrived in Kaon. It meant basically “I’m in danger for my life, I need you.” 

As Orion fell into the blue light, a small sigh escaped his frame. Better late than never, he figured. Just before the surface rose out of sight, he sent one last text-based message to Megatronus. 

_::I’m sorry, I know now. I love you.::_


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finally done!! as of right now its not betaed ;v; My beta is taking summer courses and so is busy, but I just really wanted to share the chapter. Hope you like!

4

Megatron was ripped out of his recharge with a violent jerk, immediately sitting upright. His cooling fans whirled to life in an attempt to expel the sudden build up of heat from his engine. Optic sensors were flooded with white staticy light, causing them to flare in pain. With a grunt, Megatron engaged his environmental sensors left over from his previous mining occupation. Only once receiving the familiar “image” of the relatively small room surrounded by a few loyal mechs did the gladiator close his optics and cycle down his fans.

However, even as he knew he was in good company, there was still something that prevented the mech from feeling relaxed. A cold feeling sat like lead at the bottom of his spark chamber, his hydraulics and stabilizers feeling stiff. Blinking, Megatron took in the room he was in with his optics, noticing most mechs were in recharge save for Soundwave. The group had found an ally when visiting one of the overpriced bars in east Iacon, and were able to stay at their apartment for the night. 

The gladiator felt restless, even with his stiff joints, and stood as silently as he could. Moving towards the door, Megatron held out a palm towards Soundwave to tell the mech to stay put. Perhaps a quick walk around the block would allow him to clear his processor. 

Once outside the building complex, the cool air and silent streets of Iacon did nothing to calm his fluctuating spark. Only when his feet hit the pavement of the walkway did Megatron notice the blinking icon in the corner of his HUD notifying him of a comm. ping. It was designed to be as unnoticeable as possible until he was relaxed so he wouldn’t get distracted during a gladiatorial fight, but as he opened the menu he wished it lacked that feature. 

The gladiator was running as soon as he saw the color of the ping, the short message attached only had him running faster. Only one mech would use that ping code, and it only meant one thing. Red optics pierced the darkened streets as he tore down the sidewalk, wishing not for the first time that he had a different alternative mode. His tank alt did not have the speed to get anywhere quickly, even if his treads were safe for road use. 

Thoughts raced through his processor as he sprinted towards the Iacon Hall of Records, where he knew the small archivist would have stayed after Megatron left. 

What happened to Orion? Was this Megatron’s fault for their previous fight? Was someone who was after Megatron wish to do it by getting Orion first? 

Rushing up the large dolomite steps towards the doors, Megatron was unable to even activate the door pad before they swept open before him. Skidding to a halt, the gladiator blinked in surprise at the smaller older mech before him - Alpha Trion.

“Megatronus,” the old designation caused him to grind his denta, “It is Orion Pax, he’s disappeared! I fear something has happened - you must find him!” the Master Archivist told him, gripping the gladiator’s lower arm strut. 

Megatron’s momentary confusion ebbed, and soon the mech was looming over the elder, his powerful engine rumbling in a low threat. “Where?” he gritted out, his free servo coming to grab the one holding onto him. Alpha Trion was not perturbed by the attempt at intimidation, instead pushing the larger mech away and down the stairs with surprising strength. Or perhaps Megatron was distraught enough to be easily moved.

“I saw him leaving towards the center of Iacon, near the Temple of Primus and the Well of AllSparks. You must go quickly, Megatronus, go!” With the final command, the Master Archivist pushed the gladiator away and released his arm, pointing towards the center of the city. 

With a final questioning scowl towards the other, Megatron quickly headed out, intent on finding Orion. 

Some say that Alpha Trion is a mech old enough to have met the original Thirteen created by Primus, and that such a meeting has blessed him with the ability to foretell the future. Others, who are less spiritual, claim that he has met so many mechs and femmes throughout the years that he has the ability to confidently predict the future based purely on his insight of the beings around him. 

Yet, no matter who one talks to, nearly all agreed that Alpha Trion has a certain wisdom to him concerning matters of great importance. So, were an average bot to hear how the old Master worriedly described these events as “happening too early”, one may pause at some point and wonder what significant event were about to happen. 

However, Megatron of Kaon is far from an average bot, nor did he believe in supernatural forces, and so he chose not to heed the worrying words of the Master Archivist. Instead, the silver mech plowed on down the road, heading towards the lightest part of Iacon in the middle of the night. 

As his spark pulsed erratically, Megatron hoped that he was not too late, that he could see those optics whose rich color rivaled that of the protoplanetary nebulae in the Centaurus constellation.

3

Dust was forced out of the mech’s vents as Megatron heaved a gust of atmosphere in exhaustion. Next to him sat Soundwave, listening to the other customers’ prattle while also keeping an eye on the holoscreen above the bar. Hadean shone brightly as she made her way across Iacon’s sky, but the silver gladiator paid it no mind. A cube of cheap engex sat half empty in his large servo, his helm resting against his arm strut as it laid on the bar in front of him.

Megatron had searched nearly every inch of Iacon’s center. He had entered museums, temples, administrative buildings, had knocked on residences, businesses, and had scoured the freeways. Yet with every mech or femme the gladiator encountered, none had seen the red and blue archivist.

The only place Megatron neglected would be the gardens surrounding the mouth of the Well of AllSparks. Not only were they heavily guarded, but Megatron felt a blanket of dread cover him when he stepped too close to its entrance. Megatron had searched well into the morning, only stopping when his frame gave from exhaustion when seeing Soundwave.

Now the gladiator sat a few days later in the cheapest bar they could find on the outskirts of Iacon. They had already stayed far later than previously planned, and their shanix supply could feel the devastating consequences of staying in such a high-caste city. Yet the mech could not bring himself to leave, not when Orion was still unaccounted for. At the thought of the young archivist, Megatron heaved a gust of air once more and shuttered his optics tiredly.

Only when he felt the pressure of a servo against his pauldrons did Megatron look up, surprised to see Soundwave attempting to gain his attention. The quiet mech removed his servo, before pointing at the holoscreen. Raising an eyebrow, Megatron looked to the screen. It was playing an Iaconian news station, seemingly average, but the lower thirds’ title gained the gladiator’s attention. 

_**“True Prime Revealed** \- The Matrix of Leadership has chosen the next true Prime!”_

Optics widening, the gladiator quickly looked towards the screen and readily read the captions of the reporter as they scrawled across the bottom. 

_“-council has recently shared the news that Primus has chosen the next rightful Prime to lead us! Since the death of Zeta Prime and the loss of the Matrix of Leadership, the Primes who have come to hold office- such as Sentinel Prime and Nova Prime- have been only Prime in title.”_

A scowl pulled at Megatron’s faceplates, glancing towards Soundwave. Yes, he knew this history, what does the new Prime have to do with Orion’s whereabouts? A true prime is interesting, and slightly concerning for Megatron’s plans, but that could be worried about later. Despite his doubts, when Soundwave motioned to the holoscreen once again, the gladiator obeyed and watched. 

The green reporter was situated just behind a barrier, in front of a guarded temple. Megatron recognized it from his reads with Orion in the Archive - it was one of the shrines outside of the cities that held a tunnel that led towards Cybertron’s core. _“-gathered us here to await the new Prime as he rises from the depths to meet the world he shall protect! Within the next few kliks, we will be able to watch firsthand as our new Prime steps into Hadean’s light, and we will be the first to hear his new Primus-given name.”_

For hundreds of millions of vorns, ever since the entrance was discovered, bots have swarmed to be among the first to catch a glimpse of the new Primes. Since the start of the Temple of Primus’ power within Iacon, however, bots outside of a few invited journalists have been either required to pay large sums of shanix or be personally invited to meet the Prime. The temple cited the need to keep the new Primes stress-free, but Megatron was not alone in believing that it was all a greedy scam. 

The silver gladiator gave his purple companion a curious look, but continued to watch the vidscreen. Within moments, it seemed, there was a lot of commotion that caused the camera-mech to be jostled about. An uproar in noise described only by the simple _[commotion]_ caption was shown, and suddenly the journalist was speaking again. Though their tone could not be heard, just by the look in their optics Megatron could tell they were excited. 

_“-is coming up now! The councilmechs have ordered everyone to step away while the True Prime emerges from his encounter with Primus. The Temple will verify that the mech has the Matrix of Leadership, and he will be taken into Iacon to greet all of you watchers! Oh- Here he is, look!!”_

As the camera panned quickly towards the small shrine-like structure and zoomed in, Megatron’s spark froze. Standing tall amongst the shorter high-castes was a red and blue mech. Light reflected off of familiar chestplate glass, and on his helm swiveled familiar sets of blue audiofins. Blue optics, those which Megatron could say rivaled that of a nebula in a far constellation, momentarily focused on a certain cameramech. In that instance, Megatron’s world stopped. No doubt, that mech was Orion Pax. 

The True Prime of Cybertron was none other than Orion Pax. 

A few drunk bots around him scrambled to get a better look at the holoscreen, some pushing at Megatron to move him out of the way. Soundwave watched his commander worriedly, servo close to making contact with the gladiator. Megatron paid his surroundings no mind, red optics locked solidly on the screen, wide and focused.

He watched as Orion was moved about by the templemechs. He watched as Orion was forced to open his chest plates before Primus and Cybertron. He watched as the councilmechs revealed the Matrix of Leadership securely held within _Orion’s spark chamber._

In the void between the change from absolute cold shock to rising angry betrayal, Megatron overheard the green reporter say _“-Prime will be shown to the Public outside the Senate Building at sundown later today-”_ before he was to his feet and storming out of the bar. His EM field prickled viciously with barely-contained fury, large sharp servos clenching and unclenching as the gladiator stormed down the walkway. 

He wanted nothing more than in that moment to leave Iacon, to travel to the wastes or the Sea of Rust, to be as far away from any bot as possible. 

But Soundwave and their small group of rebels had other plans for their leader, following Megatron out and pulling him off the main walkway towards an alley. His engine rumbled angrily, and Megatron bared his teeth as he glared at the wall next to him. Soundwave was the first to break the quickly-growing tension between the mechs, asking what was on everyone’s processors. “Query; chosen-prime’s former designation, Orion Pax?”

Megatron’s red optics snapped towards his comrade and his powerful engine revved loudly, EM field flaring wildly before he pulled it in close. “I hope you do not think me a fool, Soundwave. I am certain of that mech’s identity, he is Orion Pax,” Megatron growled while flexing his clawed digits. He glanced around the small party.

All of them were low-caste, and only one out of all five of them wasn’t a gladiator. Back in Kaon, there were more who had joined their cause, but these were the few Megatron trusted the most. The fleeting thought of how Orion betrayed his trust caused him to smash the side of his fist against the wall beside him. 

“Megatron,” one of them worriedly asked, “are we going to see Orion? He should remember us, right?” Looking to the mech, Megtron huffed with a frown, “No we are not going to see Orion.” ...Orion. The gladiator’s frown deepened as his anger rose higher. How _dare he?!_

“That _traitor!”_ he snarled, “He tricked us all- deceived us!” One of the others gave a rumble of agreement, fueling Megatron’s fire. Spinning, the gladiator begun to walk further down the alley, “that high caste mech, all he wanted from us was a way to get to the senate! He cared not for us, for our cause! He is like every other mech in this damned corrupt city - a selfish and greedy scraplet!” 

Stopping, Megatron stood at the end of the alley and was framed by the lights on the main road ahead of him. He turned, studying each of his followers with burning red optics silently. His engine calmed from its loud angered rumble, and his EM field stilled to something full of power, full of confidence.

“This is the last time we will be treated this way, mechs. We will live within this deception no longer. We will eradicate the council, and reform Cybertron into something fit for all mechs.” Looking back out to the city, a deadly smirk slid across his faceplates, “and since they will no longer listen to reason, we will do it with _force.”_

“I am done being deceived,” he looked over his shoulder, optics locking with each of his followers. No one would mention the pain of heartbreak they saw behind the fury of those red lenses. “Are you?”

The mechs behind him revved their engines, raised their fists, bared their teeth, and shouted their agreements. With a vicious smirk, Megatron stepped into the light of the street. “Then rise up, Decepticons, we will be fooled no more!”

2

The past four solar cycles have been little more than a blur to him. After his fall, he’d found himself surrounded by light, by warmth, with a booming voice telling him that he was important. That he was to become the next Prime. Orion had been afraid, he had known in his spark he was surrounded by Primus, but at that moment he wanted nothing more than to be with Megatron.

Primus had not heeded his fears, instead thrusting an ancient artifact within his spark chamber. Primus had not heeded his screams, instead ripping apart his frame and reformatting it into something taller, something stronger, something meant for war, and something that _Orion was not meant to be._

But he supposed that does not matter now, he mused looking about the ceremonial chambers he had been placed in upon arriving in Iacon. Orion was no more, according to the mechs around him. He was now Optimus Prime, the next Primus given ruler of Cybertron. He was to protect this world against an immense evil which was to attack this world. 

Blue optics flicked around the walls and ceilings for what felt like the thousandth time, and a gust of atmosphere was shoved from his vents. When he was reformatted, nearly everything was changed. He had lost his HUD layout, his personal file collection, and his comm. links. He was unable to contact Megatron, Ratchet, or even Soundwave. 

Orion - or, Optimus as he should start to call himself - had already seen Alpha Trion. He had been waiting in the Temple. At first he felt relief, finally a familiar face, but that emotion had quickly soured. Alpha Trion had known that this was going to happen. He had known that Orion - Optimus was going to be thrown into the Well to become the next Prime! And he did _nothing!_

Approaching pedesteps alerted him to the start of the ceremony. When Ori- Optimus was brought to the Temple of Primus, he was washed, polished, and waxed for his presentation to the Council and to the rest of Cybertron. He wondered mildly whether or not Megatron was to be there, but quickly ended the line of code from his processor when remembering their parting words. Blinking, Optimus realized he couldn’t quite remember what _exactly_ he had said last to Megatron.

Before that thought could be finished the large ornate door in front of him opened to reveal the High Priest and a Council Representative, followed by some other Temple mechs. Standing, Optimus easily towered over the mechs in front of him with his new frame. One might think that to be suddenly twice one’s height one may be unbalanced for a while, but Optimus was surprised to find that was not the case. Then again it could be because he had time to balance his new gyros while climbing through the tunnels towards Cybertron’s surface. 

Whatever the case, Optimus had little time to think on it before he was lead from the room and down the hall. As Orion, he had seen the ceremony when Nova had become Prime, but he was yet to be sparked during Zeta’s rule. Because of which, he had never seen the commotion a true Prime caused when being announced. Some of the temple mechs had told him that he had little to worry about, for he wouldn’t be required to say much if anything during the ceremony. 

As he left the large doors of the Senate and stepped out onto the top stair, Optimus quickly scanned the large crowd. It was mostly high caste, evident by the bright colors flooding his visual feed. Nevertheless, he searched for a familiar silver frame with red optics. Finding none, Optimus looked back towards the High Priest who had been speaking, and the rest of the proceedings passed quickly. 

After Optimus had opened his chest plates to the public to prove he held the Matrix, the Priest had told Cybertron his new designation and the crowd erupted in cheers. Joyous EM fields flooded the square before the Senate Building, confetti rained down from windows and everyone was celebrating. Finally, a chosen Prime! Primus has not deserted us, we will be safe from whatever evils are to come!

None such joy passed to the Prime. He was led back inside not soon after, where he was then put into what appeared to be a medical bay. The council had its own small but experienced medical staff incase of emergencies. Whether it be that a council member was in too critical condition to make it to the Iacon Hospital or that there was an uprising that prevented the members from leaving, they were ready. Sitting where instructed, Optimus prepared for whatever monotonous checkup the medics were to perform.

A commotion at the door caused the Prime to raise his optics, which quickly spiraled wide at the mech storming through the door. Blue met blue, and Optimus felt a wide smile split his gloomy mood, warmth filling his circuitry at a familiar face: “Ratchet!” 

“Orion- there you are! Or, I should call you Optimus from now on, huh?” the medical bot huffed, smiling in response. Quickly crossing the room, Ratchet busied himself with setting up medical equipment, ignoring the frustrated EM fields of the other medic bots who lingered near the doorway. “I saw you on the news,” he huffed, “and I knew I had to get my way into being here. Even if I was a top surgeon in the Iacon Hospital, there was probably no way I was going to see you again after you became Prime if I didn’t at least try to become your personal medic.” 

Turning over his wrist, Optimus allowed the orange and white mech to access his medical ports. “I’m glad you came,” Optimus smiled, before glancing at the lingering bots, “though I do hope you did not harm anyone getting here.” Ratchet simply hummed, checking the preliminary data that scrawled across the monitors, “a few bruised egos, perhaps. Nothin’ more.” 

They sat in silence for a while as the medbot performed various basic tests on his frame before moving onto his coding and firewalls. Being reformatted, Optimus needed to have his entire medical file relogged with new information. A surprised hum caught Optimus’ attention, the Prime looking to his medic curiously. 

Without the need for promoting, Ratchet shifted his hold on Optimus’ lower arm strut, turning it slightly in curiosity. Glancing to a monitor next to him, Ratchet activated a line of medical override code and suddenly Optimus’ left servo transformed into a military-grade ion blaster. One of the medics observing the checkup gasped, and with good reason. Not only were all weapons banned on the Council premises, having integrated weaponry was considered a felony.

“I believe it is safe to assume that you didn’t have integrated blasters while you were Orion Pax, yes?” Ratchet asked, surprise evident on his faceplates as he logged the event in Optimus’ records. 

“You would be correct… I never even owned a hand-held blaster,” the Prime quietly stated, looking at his transformed servo. With a frown, he moved it away from Ratchet’s grip, stating “Now that we found this, I believe there may be something else.” With that the Prime transformed his blaster into a sharp looking sword, his optics widening slightly in surprise. 

Looking to the medic, the Prime reset his vocalizer. “You don’t suppose to know why Primus had chosen to give me a rather strong means of defense, do you?” The medic simply stared at the sword for a few moments before shaking his helm with a frown and logging in the new information as well. “I have a hunch, but I do not like the insinuations of it.”

“So,” Ratchet began after silently and carefully completing the frame tests, “You gonna tell me what happened? ...why you suddenly became Prime?” 

He knew this question was coming, but it still caused a sigh of exasperation from Optimus. Looking towards the ceiling, the Prime drummed his digits quietly against the medical berth for a moment before starting. “It’s all kind of staticy,” he started quietly, “but Megatron and I… we had a fight a few nights ago. After we went to the council.”

He didn’t need to look at Ratchet to know the ambulance was still listening. “I remember going to the Archives after… but I felt guilty. So I went to apologize… I can’t remember much after that, though I do remember meeting a councilmech, Halogen I believe? He wanted to help me find Megatron. The only thing of that night I remember is falling… and meeting Primus. I of course remember him granting me the Matrix, and the… and when he reformatted my frame. When I found myself walking the tunnels, I couldn’t use my comm, my contacts had been deleted.” Optimus pursed his lips, glancing down to the medic, “Rather strange, don’t you think?” 

Ratchet was studying a monitor with worried optics, looking up to Optimus in a way that caused his spark to curl in aprehension. “Ratchet,” he started, looking at the monitor, “what is it?” The medic’s EM field prickled with uncertainty, and he checked the monitors again. “You said your memories of that night were staticy? Can you remember your latest trip to Kaon?”

Worriedly, Optimus blinked and tried to recall the memory files. “I...I am afraid I cannot, dear friend.” The Prime watched the orange and white bot closely, glancing to the monitor once again, “Why is that?” 

Calling over one of the lingering doctors, Ratchet showed them the monitor before looking at Optimus. “I may be wrong,” he started, “but it appears that when you were reformatted, your long-term memory files were marked for reuse. There are firewalls blocking me from changing it-” Ratchet looked to the medic next to him, talking quickly and quietly before huffing in frustration. “As we speak, your historic memory files are being rewritten from the least detailed to the most. I can’t do anything about it.”

Optimus’ optics spiraled wide, before his brows furrowed in worriedly. Looking from the monitor that spoke coding gibberish to him, to the medic, to Ratchet, he felt his engine stall. “I’m forgetting my time as Orion Pax…? Wait- what about my history? Will I forget all of it? Will I forget Megatron too?” 

Ratchet quickly put a servo on Optimus’ shoulder, looking at him with professional seriousness, though there was worry behind those blue optics. “Ep, you need to calm down Optimus. Take a vent… as of right now, we don’t know the full extent of this. But as it looks… forgetting everything from your time as Orion seems to be a very real possibility.” 

A small gust of air whined out of the Prime’s vents despite his best efforts, EM field swirling coldly with distress. Looking his friend in the optics, Optimus put his servo on Ratchet’s. “I don’t want to forget everything, Ratchet…” he said quietly, “I don’t want to lose myself to this position…” 

Ratchet could only stare for a moment before sighing himself, looking back to the monitor. Flaring his field just enough to brush against Optimus’ in worried support, he quietly replied “I know, Optimus… we’ll do what we can. I won’t let you forget everything.”

1

The alarms blared mightily as Megatron walked down the hallway. Large explosions rocked the city, the lights overhead flickering as a result. Across his chest and staining his servos was bright blue energon, slowly turning sticky as it remained exposed to the atmosphere. Bare silver plating shone in the dimming lights as he walked, red optics focused dead ahead. In the center of his chest shone the Decepticon symbol, proudly branded in bright perfect purple. Every now and again a rush of sound echoed as a group of soldiers rushed after a group of civilians, the commotion ended by a series of screams and shouts for help.

A clawed servo raised to the side of his helm and Megatron activated his one-way comm. link to the whole Decepticon rebellion. “The High Council is no more,” he proudly announced as he walked, “Cybertron will be ours. Rise up, Decepticons, let us fight for freedom!” He had not needed to see his troops to know that they were shouting with victory.

He had chosen to storm the Senate one and a half lunar cycles after the start of the new Primacy. Between then and now, Megatron had gone back to Kaon and reinforced his movement. When changing the tune from peaceful attempts at diplomatic change, to threats of coups and violence, low caste mechs desperate for power had flocked to them. 

With them also came support from neighboring cities. After the rest of Kaon joined the faction, Tarn and other factory-powered cities turned in support for the Decepticons. The most surprising among them was the support of Vos, a high caste city full of flight-capable frames. Their Supreme Airlord Starscream met with Megatron personally before the announcement, and has since become a trustworthy first lieutenant and commander of the air support. 

Turning towards the main hall of the Senate Building, Megatron allowed his engines to rumble fiercely. With the support of Vos came their scientific prowess and vast wealthy support. This allowed for him to finally trade in his treaded alt mode for something flightworthy. Though he of course had too much mass to become a Seeker frame like Starscream, Megatron was still able to become a powerful attack aircraft. 

The Decepticon Lord nodded to his communications officer, Soundwave, who had been waiting for him near the door. Together with Starscream, the three had planned out the attack on the High Council, and Megatron had personally eradicated each and every one of the functionalist mechs. Stopping before the doors, the silver mech silently asked what he had been wondering since the start of the attack: Where is Optimus Prime?

The visored mech simply turned slightly towards Megatron before there was a feline-like symbiote coming up near his pedes to sit down. He spared quick glance down at Ravage before Soundwave motioned towards the doors in front of them, “Optimus Prime: awaiting Lord Megatron.” 

As foretold, when Megatron stepped outside the Senate Building, there stood Optimus Prime. Framed by the burning buildings surrounding the main square, the red and blue mech was barehanded, alone, and watching Megatron with horribly familiar optics. It was the first time Megatron had seen the new Prime in person, and as he looked down from the top step he knew why he prolonged this meeting. 

With his same lost look in his broken-hearted optics, Orion Pax shone through that warframe of Optimus Prime. If Megatron had met this mech earlier in his campaign, there may have never been an uprising. 

Casting those pitiful thoughts aside, Megatron bared his sharpened denta in a bloodthirsty smirk. Casting his left servo out, the Decepticon leader spared a moment to observe the chaos around them. “You are too late to stop me. We have already taken the first step towards a better Cybertron,” he roared in pride. 

Allowing his energon soaked servo to fall to his side, Megatron looked back towards the mech in front of him. Holding out his right servo, the lord’s smirk widened. “Join us, Optimus Prime, join our march towards freedom!” 

The Prime simply frowned with a sadness too old for his faceplates. Blue optics broke the stare, and the mech turned to look around the square. A sigh escaped the Prime, evident by the plume of steam escaping his vents to fill the cold air around him. Looking back towards the silver mech above him, Optimus shifted his weight and frowned. 

“You know as well as I that I will never agree to a change wrought by death. Please, listen to reason. Stop this violence now, before it becomes too much.” Optimus held out his own servo, though it looked more like a weak plea compared to Megatron’s dramatic gesture. “We need not fight, Megatron. I do not want this last conversation I have with you as Orion Pax to end in energon. As I said before, I want peace, not war, Megatron” 

It all changed in a nanoklik after those last few familiar words were spoken. Megatron’s smirk fell from his faceplates, and his engine stilled for a deadly silent moment. Next, his EM field was flaring bright hot with rage, anger, betrayal, and his servo was flipping over to reveal his fusion cannon.

The whine of activating mechanics filled the tense air, and dark red optics locked onto bright blue ones. “Do not imitate him, you disgusting Prime! Orion Pax is dead! He was taken by the corrupt… and I will never see my archivist again. Do not think for a moment that this freedom will be won with words, Prime. I will destroy you like I did the council, and only then shall Cybertron be free!” 

Optimus Prime’s faceplates became cold and neutral, though his optics shone with a pain of indescribable loss. Changing his stance, the red and blue mech transformed his outheld servo into an ion blaster in response, and aimed it at Megatron. Battle mask sliding into place, Optimus lowered his shoulders and prepared himself for the fight. 

“As you wish, Megatron.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, what did you think? I kinda felt it may have been a bit anticlimatic.. but then again you get all that drama in actual TFP, and this is meant to be canon compliant, so! 
> 
> I may update this within the week with a beta, or maybe not. Oh well, thanks for reading! Also, thinkin of doing a part 3... After the end of TFP Beast Wars... Hmmm

**Author's Note:**

> I was writing this, and I realized.... it would be best broken into two separate parts, one for each perspective. The story will have one more chapter, and continue from where it leaves off. I should have it done perhaps in the next few weeks. We'll see! 
> 
> So, feel free to tell me how you liked it so far!


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